Izumi's Song
by omasuoniwabanshi
Summary: Ever wonder what Izumi's life was like before he was a shinigami and how it shaped him? Predates the anime. Completed Merry Christmas!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** I haven't read the 'Full Moon' manga, I've only seen the anime, so I don't know if there's an actual background story for Izumi which explains why he behaved the way he did as a shinigami. I decided to create a background that would explain why he was so mean to Mitsuki, Takuto, and Meroko, and why he appeared to dislike music and distrust the idea of love or self-sacrifice. Brace yourself, Izumi is about to be put through the emotional wringer!

CHAPTER ONE

(Tokyo, Japan 1963)

Izumi had the prettiest mother in the whole world. Momma had hair the color of the sun, and blue eyes like Izumi's favorite marble, clear cerulean that looked like crystal. All of Izumi's friends' mothers had brown eyes, but then Izumi's mom wasn't Japanese like they were.

Momma stood out in a crowd. Men would stare when she walked by.

At home, Momma filled the house with music, and not Japanese music either. She'd brought records from America, and every few months her friends back there would send her more in the mail. Izumi grew up to the sounds of the Ronetes, the Chiffons, the Beach Boys, and Elvis. Momma was determined not to "fall behind the times" as she put it.

Sometimes even the expensive stereo system Father bought her couldn't drown out their arguments. Izumi listened to one of their worst ones with Little Peggy March singing "I love him, I love him, I love him, and where he goes I'll follow, I'll follow, I'll follow" in the background. Why couldn't life be the way it was in songs?

"You lied to me! You said we'd only be here a year or two and then we'd go home. It's been five years already and I'm sick of this place. I want to go home to New York."

Izumi's mom was screaming at his dad again. He looked up from where he was playing with his sister on the floor of the family room. Karen was two years old; that was six whole years younger than Izumi. That meant he had to look out for her.

Karen's head swiveled towards her mother's voice, and she gazed across the hallway to the half closed shoji screen, the one that led to their parents' room. That was the room where the screaming was coming from. Karen squeezed her Raggedy-Ann doll and began to whimper, her big blue eyes filling with tears. Karen hated it when Momma yelled.

Izumi took his sister by the hand and pulled her over to the window across the room and away from his mother's shrill, unhappy voice. The window looked out on the little central courtyard of their house, with its midget cherry tree and koi pond.

"Look Karen, look at the fish jumping. Maybe we can feed them later."

"Don't want to," Karen mumbled quaveringly.

Momma's voice still reached them. "You keep saying that, but what about me? Don't you care how I feel, or is your job more important than I am?" she cried out in that hard, angry tone she always used when she got like this.

Usually Izumi couldn't make out his father's responses. Father rarely yelled. Father was a businessman, half American and half Japanese. He passed in both worlds, but was far more comfortable behaving like the rest of the Japanese businessmen who came to their house sometimes to drop off papers or to share a meal. Father's voice was usually a low, quiet rumble, but this time he yelled back.

"Don't you understand I'm working this hard for you? Here is where I've a chance to get promoted, here in Japan. If we go back I'll never be promoted, and I'll never make enough to afford a house like this back home. You want so much, Monica. For God's sake, have you seen your last shopping bill?"

"What else am I supposed to do around here? I hate Japan. You're never around, and when you are you never want to go out and if we do you just end up glaring at anyone who pays me any attention."

"Not everyone." Father's words were quieter this time, but Izumi heard them.

There was a silence, then his mother's voice came again, low and vindictive. "So you're going to throw that in my face again? How dare you? How dare you, when you left for six months for that stupid executive training course? What was I supposed to do while you were gone? Learn flower arranging and tea ceremonies so you could come back to a proper little geisha girl? Well I'm not some porcelain doll like your grandma was. I'm a woman. I have needs, and if I can't get them from you…."

Izumi jumped as he heard his father's hand smack down on the desk in their room. It was something his father did only when he was very angry.

Momma laughed goadingly. "So what are you going to do now? Hit me? Wouldn't that violate that crummy little samurai code of yours?"

Izumi winced. His father took his honor very seriously. The longest conversation they'd ever had was the time Father explained bushido, the samurai code of honor to him, and told him that their family had once been samurai.

It wasn't a surprise to hear his father storm out of the house. Izumi knew he wouldn't come back until late, and when he did he'd probably be very drunk.

Karen let out another whimper as the front door slammed.

"Don't cry," Izumi said.

Karen didn't listen. Karen was a baby and didn't know any better, but Izumi knew his mother hated crying, so he knelt and wrapped his arms around his sister and gave her a hug. "It's going to be alright. You'll see," he muttered against her golden hair.

Karen looked a lot like their mother with her pale white skin, big startlingly blue eyes, and yellow hair. Izumi also had his mother's hair, it just wasn't as thick. From his father he'd inherited his brown, almond shaped eyes, and a touch of golden tan in his skin tone. Mother was all rounded curves like Marilyn Monroe, but Izumi was thin. Even Karen at age two looked more solid than he did.

Momma screamed a bad word after father, then stormed out as well. Izumi patted Karen awkwardly on the back and waited for Mrs. Iwata, their housekeeper, to come out of the kitchen where she always hid whenever there was a fight. It looked like he and Mrs. Iwata would have to feed Karen, and put her to bed again.

Izumi hugged his sister and saw another fish leap, the impact of its landing roiling the surface of the pond. One fish, like one harsh word, creating a ripple effect that continued long after its cause was gone.

o-o-o

Izumi tugged at his mother's hand. He hated taking the train. Looking up at all those legs and torsos above him made him feel small. Momma was taking the train more often lately to go shopping, and always at the same time of day.

He sighed and shuffled out of the compartment behind her when the train doors opened. As they walked, Izumi leaned back and made a face at Karen behind his mother's back. She was leaning her head back as well, while holding firmly to momma's other hand. It was a longstanding practice they had which always made Karen giggle.

A sharp tug on Izumi's hand reminded him that Momma wasn't amused by it. She was wearing her best red coat, the one with the big buttons, and she paused by the station entrance like she always did. Izumi knew better than to complain by now. Mother would wait several minutes then walk on when she was ready.

A group of businessmen, American, not Japanese, came flooding into the station.

"Hello, stranger." Momma's voice rang out, low and laughing. Izumi glanced up in surprise to see that she'd greeted one of the Americans, a man with light brown hair and grey-blue eyes, wearing a blue suit. The man's eyes lit up as he came to a stop in front of them, letting the other Americans go on without him.

"Monica. It's been a long time." The man's voice was warm, friendly. Izumi swung Momma's hand gently to show that he approved, but she was too busy looking at the man to notice.

"I heard you were back in town again, David. So how is the world of international law?"

"Dull, but successful. It's been two years hasn't it?"

"More." Momma smiled and released her grip on Izumi and Karen's hands in order to place her hands on top of their heads instead. "These are my children, Izumi Junior and Karen."

Izumi felt the man's gaze drop to him, so he peeked up at the man from under his bangs.

"Hello, Izumi. You were a lot shorter when I saw you last at one of your mom and dad's dinner parties. How have you been?"

"Very good, thank you," Izumi answered politely in English. Mrs. Iwata always spoke Japanese to him when Momma wasn't around, and he had to speak it in school, but Momma refused to speak anything but English at home, so he knew English too.

The man, David, switched his gaze across Izumi's mother to where Karen was clinging to her leg and peering out shyly from behind the folds of her red coat. "So this is…?"

"This is Karen," Momma supplied. "She just turned two last month. She was three weeks overdue."

"Two?" The breath whooshed out of the man. Izumi wondered what was wrong with him. His mouth opened then closed again before he went on. "Then Karen is…"

Momma stepped forward and put her fingers lightly on the man's lips for a moment.

"Shh."

She gave him a long look. So long, that Izumi began to fidget. "We'll talk later. You're staying at the Imperial Hotel again?"

The man nodded. "Until I can find an apartment, but I'm not going to be here that long this time…" he trailed off dazedly.

The man was staring at Karen, and it made Izumi uncomfortable. He grabbed Momma's hand and began to swing it. She didn't look at him, squeeze his hand, or acknowledge him in any way, but she grabbed Karen's hand and took a step backward.

"I'll call you," she said to the man, and took another step back, then another, until at last she had to turn around in order to leave the station.

Izumi glanced back and saw the man staring after them, until the crowds closed in around and he was lost to sight.

o-o-o

Momma came home agitated. Her blonde hair was coming out of its French twist, and little tendrils were clinging to her neck. Her lipstick had smeared a little. Izumi wanted to laugh, but didn't dare. He didn't like the look in Momma's eyes.

"Pack your things, we're leaving!" she said, and went into her bedroom where Izumi could hear her pulling open drawers.

Izumi turned from where he'd been watching the fish in the big fish tank by the front hallway and stared. Leaving? Leaving where? There weren't any school vacations coming up.

Mrs. Iwata came to the kitchen doorway, dishtowel in hand and exchanged a look with Izumi before venturing into Momma's room.

"I'm leaving. Help Izumi and Karen get packed." Momma's voice came strongly into the hallway.

Mrs. Iwata's voice was softer, remonstrating, but Momma couldn't be reasoned with, not when she was in this sort of mood.

"I gave you an order, now just do it!"

Defeated, Mrs. Iwata came out of the room, shoulders slumped and eyes worried.

"Izumi-chan, go to your room and get your suitcase out from under your bed."

Izumi felt his stomach clench. Something was wrong about this. "Why?"

Mrs. Iwata's face creased into a nervous smile. "You're going on a little trip with your mommy. Don't worry, it'll be alright. Now go."

He began to walk backward down the hallway towards his room, keeping his eyes on Mrs. Iwata's worried face.

"What about Karen?" He winced as a particularly loud slamming noise came from his mother's room. She wasn't that hard on furniture unless she was annoyed. When Momma was angry, life was not good.

Jumping as well at the noise, Mrs. Iwata tried to smile again. "Karen is napping. I'll pack for her. I just have to make a phone call first."

Izumi's eyes got big. Mrs. Iwata hated the telephone. Momma always said Mrs. Iwata hated anything modern, and would have washed clothes in the river if Momma didn't make her use the nice electric washing machine she'd bought her first year in Japan. If Mrs. Iwata was willing to use the telephone, something was seriously wrong.

Turning wordlessly, Izumi made his way to his room, pulled out his suitcase, and began to pack. When he was finished, he dragged the suitcase out into the hall and stood by the fish tank.

Momma was still packing, muttering furiously. From the open shoji screen that led to Karen's room, Izumi could hear his sister's sleepy inquiries as Mrs. Iwata woke her and got her ready to leave.

The fish in the tank swam lazily around, as if nothing was wrong. Izumi and Karen wanted a dog, but Momma said dogs were messy, so Father bought a fish tank instead. It was a big one, and it sat on a low stand on the floor. Izumi knelt by it and lay his forehead against the cool glass.

The front door opened. It was Father. There were water droplets on the shoulders of his business suit. He'd gone out without his umbrella in the rain. Father never did that.

Father's eyes, hard and angry, swept over Izumi, dismissed him and turned toward the bedroom.

Momma must have heard the door open as well, because she came out of the bedroom, suitcase in hand, her best hat on her head.

They stared at each other for a moment, then the arguments began.

"What do you think you're doing, Monica?"

Momma's face got hard and set. "I should think that's obvious. I'm leaving you, and I'm taking the children with me."

"No you're not." Father let the door fall shut behind him and took a step forward. "You are not taking my children away."

"Your children?"

Momma laughed. It was an ugly laugh, and it didn't sound happy at all. Izumi shuddered and stayed still. If he didn't move, maybe this wouldn't be happening. If he moved, Momma would be even angrier, so he stayed frozen, slumped against the fish tank.

"Yes, my children." Father's glance snaked over Izumi then swept up the hall. "Where is Karen? Karen!"

Mrs. Iwata came to Karen's doorway, holding her hand. Izumi's sister was blinking and whimpering, clutching Mrs. Iwata's hand as if it were a lifeline.

Momma saw, and frowned. Leaving her suitcase in the bedroom doorway, she marched down the hall and grabbed Karen's hand away from Mrs. Iwata's.

"Come on, Karen, we're leaving," she huffed, and marched back down the hall, dragging Karen with her. Karen was running to keep up. They stopped, they had to, when Father stepped into the middle of the hallway to block their way.

"You are not taking my daughter away from me." Father told her.

A truly ugly smile came over Momma's face. "She's not your daughter. She's mine. Mine and David's."

What did Momma mean? How could Karen not belong to Father? If Karen didn't belong to father, then did that mean that Izumi didn't too? Izumi felt like the time he'd gone on a carnival ride and thrown up afterwards. It was like the floor was tilting under him, even though he knew it wasn't.

His cheeks were wet, and he didn't even realize he'd started crying until just then. He looked at Father and saw that Father's world had shattered too.

"What did you say?" Father whispered.

"You heard me." Momma's lip curled up in a sneer. "Karen isn't your child. She wasn't early, she was late. That little reconciliation of ours was just a little too late, or did you never notice that she's nothing like you?"

Father staggered a few steps back, his eyes on Karen as if he'd never seen her before. Karen whimpered and hid her face in Momma's skirt. Momma just stood there, angry triumph shining in her eyes. She knew she'd won.

"Come on, Karen, Izumi, let's go." Momma started pulling Karen past Father to where Izumi sat by the tank. "You can send our things later. We'll be at David's hotel, The Imperial."

"No."

Father reached out and put his hand on Izumi's shoulder. He grabbed him so hard that it hurt, but Izumi didn't cry out. Good boys never cry. Momma told him that. "You're not taking Izumi. Izumi stays."

Mother snarled, then seemed to consider. Her face smoothed out. "Fine then. Keep what's yours. Keep this too, if you like."

She released Karen's hand so she could pull off her wedding ring and offer it to Father.

Father just stared at it.

Momma's face got angry again. She clenched her fist around the ring, then threw it violently away. Izumi heard it hit the glass edge of the fish tank and then make a splash as it sank to the bottom.

Momma grabbed Karen's hand again and pulled her out the front door.

Father released his grip on Izumi's shoulder and walked down the hall like an old man, as if each step hurt. He got to the shoji screen leading to his office, opened it, and disappeared within. Izumi heard him open a drawer, then heard the clink of glass on glass. Father was drinking again. Mrs. Iwata went timidly to the office doorway, but father yelled at her to go away, to leave the house.

Izumi jumped. Father had never yelled at Mrs. Iwata before.

With an apologetic glance at Izumi as she went by, Mrs. Iwata obeyed.

Izumi sat in the hall for a minute after the door closed behind Mrs. Iwata. Except for the intermittent clink of glass on glass coming from Father's office, there wasn't a sound in the house.

He got to his feet and stepped up close to the fish tank. There was the ring, sitting on the fake-looking, tiny blue stones at the bottom of the tank. Izumi wasn't supposed to play with the tank.

He stared at the ring, then pushed his sleeve up and plunged his arm in the water. It was cool, like the glass of the tank. Standing on his tiptoes, he stretched his arm until his fingers touched the blue stones, and felt around until he found the ring. Closing his hand around it, he pulled it out of the water and sank to the floor.

Opening his fingers, he stared at the ring. "Come back, Momma," he whispered to the ring, as if it magically had the power to transport his words to his mother. "I'll be a good boy. I won't cry anymore, just come back, please?"

But Momma didn't hear. Momma never came back.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Sorry I can't respond to individual reviews here like I used to. Evidently ffdotnet is no longer allowing authors to respond to reviews at the beginning or end of chapters anymore. Why? Who knows? Ours is not to reason why…etc. etc.

CHAPTER TWO

(Tokyo, Japan 1967)

The years passed.

Izumi heard from Momma only intermittently. 'Guilt phone calls' Father called them. Months would pass between them, until at last Izumi didn't get any more phone calls at all. The only time he heard from her was when she'd send him expensive gifts on his birthday.

The house was quieter without Momma in it, Momma who'd played her records endlessly, and danced around the room. Father fired Mrs. Iwata and found a new housekeeper who only spoke Japanese. She packed up all of Karen's and Momma's belongings and sent them away to America.

Izumi wondered when Father would send him away too. He decided to be the best son, and the best student he could be. Maybe if he did his best, Father would let him stay.

He came straight home from school and studied as hard as he could. He started getting the highest marks in his class, but Father wasn't around enough to notice.

Father spent most of his time at the office. He didn't come home until late, sometimes not until after Izumi went to bed. One night Izumi stayed up to show Father his report card.

Father took the paper from him solemnly, and read it quietly.

"You did well," he said at last.

Izumi had high marks in all his classes except Physical Education, and even then he passed with a presentable grade.

Izumi beamed. "Thank you, Father, I…"

Father sighed, causing Izumi to break off and look at him questioningly.

"You look a lot like her," Father said, and Izumi understood at last that looking like Momma was not a good thing. He waited for Father to go on, but Father just turned and went to his office.

It was the P.E. grade, Izumi told himself. He'd just have to work harder at it, and that would impress Father. If he were a better son, then Father would forget how much he looked like his mother, and Father would love him again. It had to work. It just had to.

o-o-o

Izumi turned twelve the week Father brought the woman home.

"Izumi. This is Suzuya. She is going to be your new mother. I want you to respect her and obey her wishes."

Izumi felt his eyes go wide. He'd had no idea Father wanted another wife. He looked at her, standing next to Father, and expected her to be like his mother, beautiful and full of life, but she wasn't.

She was Japanese, with wide brown eyes set in a smooth but unremarkable face. She had bangs and short hair which only came down a little past her chin. Her lips were pressed tightly together, and Izumi was surprised to see that she was trying to keep them from trembling.

She bowed low at the waist to him.

"I am very glad to meet you, Izumi-chan. I will try to be a good mother to you. I hope you will come to like me in time."

Blinking, Izumi looked to his father for guidance, but his father only nodded at him brusquely.

Father obviously wanted Izumi to agree to let this woman become his new mother, so he did the only thing he could. He bowed back politely and said, "Yes, thank you. I'm sure I will."

He didn't see much of Suzuya until after the wedding. They were all to move into an apartment that Suzuya's father bought for them in the heart of Tokyo. It was in a very nice district and Izumi would have to switch schools, but Father seemed pleased, so Izumi didn't dare complain. He'd been too busy with studying to have much time for friends at his old school anyway. Nothing must keep him from succeeding, because succeeding in school was the only thing he knew to do to make Father love him again.

The apartment was big. It took up nearly a quarter of the floor of the large apartment building and had many rooms. Izumi's room was twice as big as the one he'd had back at the old house. Suzuya and he were alone in it with the servants much of the time, because Father was always at the office, as usual.

Izumi told himself that he didn't mind. He wasn't going to be like Momma, always complaining that Father wasn't around. Father worked hard. He had to, even if he had married the company president's daughter.

Izumi understood the need to prove oneself. He came home from school each day and hit the books hard.

Sometimes when he'd finish triple checking his homework, he'd find time on his hands. He always hated that.

One night he wandered into the kitchen to get a glass of water. It was a little too early to go to bed, but it was late enough that the servants had all gone home. That was why it was a shock to see light under the kitchen door.

Izumi pushed it open. He was twelve now, and twelve was too big to be afraid of burglars.

There, sitting at the kitchen table, was Suzuya, a cup of tea and an open magazine in front of her. She wasn't reading it though. She was staring out the window over the sink, with a sad expression on her face.

He'd caught her off guard. He'd never seen Suzuya with any other expression than a gentle smile, especially when his father was around. Feeling like the intruder he'd thought her, he backed out of the doorway.

"Izumi?"

Too late. She'd caught sight of him and turned in her chair, planting that smile of hers back on her face.

"Yes," he acknowledged.

"Please, come in. Did you want anything?" Suzuya's smile broadened welcomingly.

Izumi shifted his weight, wondering if he should deny it, but it seemed stupid to do so. "I wanted a glass of water. I'm sorry. I'll come back later." He turned to go.

"Wait, please." Suzuya stood. "I'll get you water, or tea if you'd prefer. I'm having tea, so it's no trouble."

She looked so eager, how could he refuse?

"Tea would be…nice."

Suzuya beamed. There was no other word for it. It was like a light was switched on behind her face. It made her look almost…pretty. And she wasn't pretty, not really. Not like Momma was.

Izumi felt guilty for looking down on Suzuya because she wasn't beautiful, so he sat at the table and was extra polite when he thanked her for the tea she placed in front of him.

Once they'd both settled at the table, it seemed they had nothing to say. The silence droned on, and Izumi had to resist an urge to squirm. Suzuya began to look as uncomfortable as he did.

"What are you reading?" he asked at last.

"Oh this?" She picked up the magazine and showed him the cover. It was a business weekly.

"Is it interesting?"

Suzuya opened her mouth to answer glibly, considered a little, then grinned. "Not especially. I only read it so I'll have something to talk about with Izumi, I mean Izumi senior, your father." She turned slightly pink as she muddled through her words, then sighed. "I miss him when he's not here."

Izumi blinked. Could it be that Suzuya was shy? Father had drummed it into Izumi for days before the wedding that Suzuya came from an important family, and that she was used to being treated with respect, and Izumi wasn't to bother her in any way. Izumi assumed she didn't want to be bothered, so he'd left her strictly alone. He regretted that now.

"Me too," he said.

They finished their tea and went off to their respective rooms.

Things were different after that. When Izumi got home from school, Suzuya would make a point of stopping him to ask how his day had been. Each night she would bring him tea in his room and talk to him a little bit as he drank it. A 'study break' she called it. It was never more than ten or fifteen minutes, so he never resented the lost time, and oddly enough he seemed to be able to focus better afterwards.

One night he found the courage to ask her. She was sitting primly on his bed, the tray that she'd brought the tea in on beside her.

"Suzuya, how do you know about study breaks?" Izumi turned in his chair at his desk to face her.

She smiled and got a far off look in her eye. "My mother used to insist on study breaks for me. My father was determined that I get into a good school, so he made me study very hard, even in Junior High School. After my mother died, I didn't get study breaks any more."

"Oh, I'm sorry." Izumi slurped his tea nervously. He'd made her sad. Now she'd get angry like Momma always did after someone made her sad. He braced himself.

"You don't have to be. It happened years ago, right before my first year of High School." Suzuya pulled her knees to her chest and smoothed her long skirt around her ankles. "So you see, I know what it's like to grow up without a mother."

Izumi looked into his tea. Momma never brought him tea when he was little. Momma always had Mrs. Iwata do everything. He admitted to himself, finally, that even though he missed her, life was much quieter and less stressful when she wasn't around.

"But I'm not growing up without a mother," Izumi whispered softly. "I have you." He could feel his cheeks coloring, and kept staring intently into the teacup.

"Oh, Izumi." Suzuya slipped off the bed. Her arms came around Izumi's shoulders and she hugged him gently. "It makes me very happy that you think of me as a mother. I will do my best to be a good mother."

He recognized that determination in her voice. It was the same determination he had to please Father. It looked like he and Suzuya had a lot more in common than he thought. Setting down his tea on his desk, he hugged her back.

o-o-o

Izumi and Suzuya were going shopping. Father's birthday was in a few weeks, and Suzuya promised Izumi they would go on a Saturday afternoon. Father would be busy meeting with an American executive in town for the week.

Halfway to the store, Suzuya remembered that she'd left the paper with Father's sizes on her desk back home. She ordered the limousine to take them back to the apartment building. Smiling, she made a joke about how forgetful she was, but Izumi knew that she'd been flustered when the American had shown up at the apartment half an hour early, just as they were leaving.

She'd been anxious to go. Izumi noticed it even though she'd greeted the tall, sandy haired American formally with a bow.

He'd asked her about it in the limousine.

"Do you not like Bob-san?"

Suzuya blinked. "The American? Why would you ask that?"

"You wanted to leave before he came."

"Oh, that."

Suzuya considered a little before answering quietly. "I don't know this Bob Spencer at all. Your father doesn't like it when I'm around his colleagues from America. He doesn't trust them very much, but I think it is different with this one. Bob-san is the younger brother of a man your father worked with in America. He told this man that he would 'show him the ropes' while Bob-san is in Japan. I just don't want to do anything that might make your father…uncomfortable." She smiled. "But let's not talk about that. What would you like to get your father? A new tie perhaps? I was thinking of getting him a shirt and…"

Suzuya began rummaging through her purse. "Oh no! I left the paper with your father's sizes on it at home!"

This was how Izumi and Suzuya wound up quietly opening the apartment door. Suzuya hadn't wanted to ring the bell – which would have alerted the servants and disturbed Father and his guest.

As they crept inside, Father's voice rang out from the den.

"…if you really want to get ahead in a Japanese firm, the best way is to marry the boss's daughter."

Suzuya froze. Izumi glanced up at her, not really understanding why until the significance of his father's words sank in. Was Father speaking of himself?

Father continued. "Business in Japan is run differently. Ability matters, yes, but it's the connections that matter most. So the best advice I can give you is, if you plan to stay in Japan and make a success of yourself, then marry the daughter of the highest CEO you can find."

Bob laughed uncertainly, then asked, "What about love?"

"Love?" Izumi heard the ice cubes in father's drink rattle together as he paused to take a swig. Then Father's voice rang out clearly, harshly. "Love is for fools. Find a wife who'll help you get ahead in business. Think of it as a business transaction, nothing more."

Suzuya dropped her purse and ran back out the door.

Izumi stood for a second, hands clenched at his sides. He wanted to go tell father what he thought of him for hurting Suzuya's feelings like that, but this was Father. How could he confront Father? And what about Suzuya? His concern for her outweighed his brief spurt of rebellion.

Izumi pivoted and ran after her. He made it to the marble tiled hallway just in time to see the elevator doors close. Skidding to a stop, he regarded the smooth metal expanse and wondered what to do. The stairs were at the end of the hall, but Izumi had no illusions about his physical prowess. P.E. was his worst class. If he tried to run down the stairs he'd just end up gasping and wheezing for breath by the fourth floor down, and he'd never catch up to Suzuya. There was no help for it, he'd just have to wait for the elevator.

Jamming his finger against the 'down' button over and over didn't make the elevator move any faster, but Izumi did it anyway. By the time the elevator doors opened again he was fairly dancing with impatience.

He dashed inside and waited for the doors to close behind him. Eyes glued to the panel at the top of the doors, he watched the lighted numbers of the floors count down until finally the elevator stopped at the first floor.

Izumi began running before the doors even opened, skidding slightly on the marble foyer before shoving the glass entry doors open hard, and bursting out onto the sidewalk.

"Hey!" the doorman exclaimed.

Ignoring him, Izumi glanced frantically right and left. The limousine was still parked in front of the building, doors closed. He could see that she wasn't in it, so where had she gone?

He was just opening his mouth to ask the doorman if he'd seen her when he heard squealing tires and the sickening noise of impact.

A woman screamed.

Izumi looked to his left and saw a crowd gathering at the end of the block. The woman who'd screamed had her back turned to him and was staring at something in the street. She'd dropped her shopping bag and was beginning to sob.

Izumi began to run towards her. More people were rushing toward the intersection at the end of the block now. He had to push past people to get to the edge of the sidewalk. Cars were stopping, unable to get through the intersection, and some began to honk their horns.

He pushed and shoved through the gathering crowd until he came to a stop by the sobbing woman. Distantly, he heard her saying, over and over, "She just walked right out into traffic, she didn't look! she didn't look!"

Then his mind filled with a sound like rushing water and it filled everything, blotting out the noises around him until only the sight in front of him registered.

There was Suzuya, her body broken and her eyes staring sightlessly, lying on the roadway in a spreading pool of blood.

She was dead.

Suzuya was dead.

That was two mothers who'd left him now. Izumi continued to stare, his eyes noting and storing details and images in his brain that would haunt his nightmares for years to come.

A drop of water hit his eye. Another splashed against his cheekbone. Izumi raised his head and stared up at the gathering clouds above.

It had begun to rain.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own 'Full Moon' or any of its characters.

CHAPTER THREE

The funeral was a large one, befitting the daughter of a company president. Izumi endured it without expression. He wasn't really Suzuya's son, so what did it matter what he felt? At least that's how it seemed to him. The words of condolence were all for his father.

Suzuya's own father didn't speak to Izumi's dad until after everyone else had gone home. They went into Father's study, and Izumi heard angry voices again for the first time since Momma left.

Suzuya's dad stormed out of the den with a set look on his face, and left the apartment without acknowledging Izumi's presence. Izumi never saw him again.

Father lost his job with the company that night. They moved to Shimonoseki where Father got a position with a shipping company. They moved around a lot after that, always to port cities. Izumi never had a chance to make many friends. That was fine with him. He kept himself busy trying to frantically keep his grades up after each move. Having to contend with new teachers, new school rules, and new expectations proved to be a full time job. He rarely saw his father. Father stayed late each night at the office, working furiously to get ahead with his new company.

His new boss didn't have any children.

Finally, father worked his way up the corporate ladder again and was granted a position in Tokyo in 1973. Izumi moved back to the city that had once been home near the beginning of his last year of high school.

One of his teachers liked his writing style and stuck Izumi on the staff of the school newspaper. Izumi always hated after school clubs and extracurricular activities, and tried to avoid them, but the newspaper suited him. The editor, Matsudairo, gave him his assignments and left him alone to write his articles. That was how Izumi liked it. Sometimes Matsudairo was so lazy that he'd have his second in command, the quiet, bespectacled Tokiwa, give out the assignments.

One day he was assigned to interview the school tennis team's girls' singles champion.

"Matsudairo-kun wanted you to have this assignment, Izumi." Tokiwa told him. She gave a small smile and looked down at her notes. "He thinks very highly of your writing," she went on softly and handed him the paper with Matsudairo's suggestions on it. "Here."

Izumi glanced down at the paper and absorbed the relevant information. Glancing up, he saw that Tokiwa was still there, and appeared to be waiting for some kind of response.

"Thank you, Tokiwa-kun," he said, then turned away, his mind already on the girl he was supposed to interview the next day.

Her name was Hitomi Yamaguchi. Izumi caught up with her after a match at another school's tennis court. She'd won, and hadn't really wanted to leave her adoring teammates, but her coach ordered her.

They walked toward the tennis court's parking lot along one of the many drainage canals that bisected Tokyo. Izumi thought that taking the scenic route might make her more inclined to talk. Hitomi was one of the most popular girls in school. She was half a head shorter than he was, with light brown eyes and hair stuck up in a ponytail. She still wore the short-skirted tennis uniform of her team, and kept her arms folded as if she didn't know what to do with them without a racket to hold.

Every school had its crowd of golden students – the clique everyone envied and admired. Izumi learned to keep away from them, for these golden ones tended to bully the other students. Now, however, he had a job to do, so he dutifully got out his notepad and asked her the standard questions for a sports interview.

Hitomi kept her arms folded as they walked and answered as briefly as possible. She was really very pretty, but not very animated. She'd seemed more alive on the court.

At last Izumi ran out of questions. They came to the edge of the parking lot. His car was parked by the end, so he set down his school bag next to the rear wheel, and stuck his notepad in the side pocket of the bag.

He turned to thank her for the interview, and stopped dead.

Hitomi had dropped her arms to her sides and was staring at his car, eyes shining in admiration.

Reluctantly, Izumi glanced at it as well. It was his birthday gift from his mother. It was an American car, this year's model, a 1973 corvette stingray. It was red, a two-seater, with smooth lines that angled up and then down over the front wheels to a sleek edge at the front end of the hood. Unlike most cars, there was no bulky chrome bumper at the front, and that gave it a very distinctive look. It was flashy, up to date, and sophisticated. Izumi hated it.

Momma's gifts always seemed to be the sort of things she would have bought for herself. Each birthday she sent expensive, flashy things, along with a parcel of whatever records were popular in America that year. Izumi dutifully listened to all the songs once so he could write a proper thank you note, then stacked them away in his bookshelves to allow them to gather dust. Music reminded him too much of Momma.

"Is this your car?" asked Hitomi breathlessly.

"Um, yes. Do you like it?"

"Like it?" Hitomi wrenched her eyes off it to look at Izumi. "Like it? It's wonderful! Where did you get it?"

Izumi found himself telling Hitomi about Momma. He didn't usually speak about himself or his past. He was the reporter. He asked questions, people answered, and he wrote about what they said. It was unheard of for someone to ask anything of him.

Talking to Hitomi was different than talking to any of the other students on the newspaper staff or in classes. She seemed to hang on his every word.

It seemed like a natural thing to do to offer to drive her back to school so she wouldn't have to take the school bus with her friends. When they arrived, Hitomi's friends from the popular clique were waiting there for her. Wincing inwardly, Izumi did as she asked and pulled up to the front of the school, rather than parking his car at the far end of the parking lot around back near the staff parking lot. That's what he usually did so as not to draw attention to himself.

When he opened the door for Hitomi, she got out beaming joyfully, and even grabbed onto his arm to keep him there as her friends crowded around.

Somehow, she got him talking about the car. The girls dragged Hitomi away to whisper and giggle, while the boys started asking him questions about the car.

Izumi relaxed. This was something he could speak about with authority. He'd memorized the owner's manual that came with the car. Even Owata-kun, the undisputed leader of the golden clique, seemed impressed with his answers. Izumi found himself invited to tag along with the group as they went out to eat. At the restaurant, he sat by Hitomi, and drove her home afterwards.

Somehow, Izumi became part of the 'in' crowd. He ate with them at lunch. Since he usually stayed late working at the school newspaper office or in the library on his schoolwork, and Hitomi stayed late for tennis practice, he found himself driving her home more often than not.

One day Hitomi was quieter than usual. Most of the time she'd talk his ear off about what happened at tennis practice. Izumi rarely had to talk at all, which was OK with him.

They were stopped in traffic when Hitomi looked over at him and blurted out, "Izumi, are you my boyfriend?"

Izumi's hands tightened on the steering wheel, as he looked over at her. "What?" Immediately he cursed himself. He was a writer, he should be able to come up with a better response than that.

Hitomi crossed her arms. "It's just that we're always together, and the other girls on the tennis team asked if you were my boyfriend."

Izumi tensed. "What did you tell them?" He waited to hear her say that she only liked him because of his car, or because his father was now a rich company vice president. He waited for her to deny him.

"I told them yes." Hitomi bit her lip, and played with the edge of her school uniform skirt nervously. "I like you, Izumi. I want you to be my boyfriend. So will you?"

A rude honking noise alerted Izumi to the fact that the signal light had changed while he and Hitomi were talking. He turned his attention to the road ahead and gunned the motor. It served to hide the huge, unbearable joy radiating out from his chest. Hitomi liked him. The prettiest, most popular girl in school liked him, and wanted him to be her boyfriend. His heart swelled. He just hoped he was up to the challenge. He'd have to work hard to deserve a girlfriend like Hitomi.

For the first time since his mother sent him the car, he blessed it.

"I like you too, Hitomi," he answered simply. "I'll be your boyfriend."

And just like that, Izumi found someone to love.

o-o-o

Outwardly nothing changed, yet inside everything changed for Izumi. He still opened the car door for Hitomi when he drove her to and from school. He still sat by her at the lunch table, and hung out with her friends, even though every hour spent with them meant an extra hour past his bedtime so he could be sure his grades didn't suffer.

Now however, he watched over her. She was his girlfriend. He wanted her to be happy, and that instead of grades became the focus of his life. He even let her play whatever music she wanted on his car radio. She always chose rock music. Though it reminded him of his mother, he hid his feelings and let the music play on. Good boyfriends should be willing to sacrifice for their girlfriends.

When tennis season was at last over, he took her to other school events – games, dances, any excuse to be with her. He was happy when he was with her. Happiness wasn't something he was used to, and each time he saw her, the rush of joy that came over him took him by surprise.

"Ah, Izumi-kun." Matsudairo was making another rare appearance in the newspaper office, and waved Izumi over to where he and Tokiwa were hunched over a desk, pouring over the next edition's layout.

Tokiwa stood up straight and pushed her glasses back up her nose where they'd slid down. Her long hair was pulled back by two plastic barrettes.

"I need someone to do an article on the next school dance, interview the band, and all that." Matsudairo said.

Izumi tensed. "I'm sorry, Matsudairo-kun. I'm going to be attending that dance with a date. I won't have time to do interviews."

This dance was going to be special. Izumi was going to ask Hitomi for a kiss afterwards when he drove her home. It would be their first real kiss. Everything had to be perfect. He'd found out what color dress she planned to wear so he could get her a corsage that matched it. He'd ordered it days ago, tiny yellow roses with baby's breath and feathery sprigs of fern. The florist assured him that it would be beautiful. It had to be beautiful to be worthy of her.

Matsudairo's mouth hung open. "You? Date? What?"

Tokiwa pulled at Matsudairo's sleeve. "Izumi-kun is going out with Hitomi-kun. I told you before, remember?" She glanced at Izumi and blushed.

Mouth snapping shut, Matsudairo began to look annoyed. "Who is the editor around here anyhow?"

Izumi cringed inside but held his ground, refusing to drop his gaze submissively like he usually did when he wanted to avoid attention. He opened his mouth to answer, but Tokiwa beat him to it.

"I'll do it," she told Matsudairo decisively.

He blinked and looked at her. So did Izumi. Tokiwa never spoke in that sort of tone. Her words were always nervous-sounding suggestions, shy little questioning statements, as if she wasn't sure of anything, or was afraid of offending someone.

Tokiwa blushed and went on. "If Izumi-kun doesn't want to do the interviews, I will do it for him. I would be happy to."

Matsudairo scowled. "You're the assistant editor. You shouldn't have to go out on interviews, you…"

"You're always saying I need more experience, Matsudairo-kun. This is a good opportunity. Maybe Izumi could look over my article when I'm done to see if it's OK?" Tokiwa's voice went back to its usual self-deprecating tone. "If he wouldn't mind, I mean."

"Well, the paper isn't due out until several days after the dance, so I guess that would be alright," Matsudairo said grudgingly. "But if Izumi can't pull his weight around here, he can be replaced." He glared and stalked away towards the bathroom.

Izumi found himself trembling with rage. How dare Matsudairo imply that he wasn't pulling his own weight? Izumi always got his articles in on time.

A slight tug on his sleeve reminded Izumi that Tokiwa was still there. He forced his expression to soften as he turned to look at her.

"Matsudairo-kun didn't mean that, Izumi. He just gets upset when things don't go as planned."

Izumi shrugged. "Thank you for volunteering to do the article for me, Tokiwa-kun."

"It's nothing." She glanced down at the ground. "I'm happy to help you in any way I can, Izumi."

The clock on the wall told Izumi it was time to go meet Hitomi. "I've got to go. Thank you again, and goodbye," he told Tokiwa, and left.

As he passed through the newspaper office doorway, he heard Tokiwa's voice saying 'goodbye' as well, and thought for a moment that it sounded sad. Brushing it off as his imagination, he kept going. Hitomi was waiting.

o-o-o

The dance was loud. A newly formed teen rock band called the Rascals was playing. Izumi found it hard to hear himself think, let alone talk. The Rascals were composed of the worst of the worst students in school, the ones who came with their uniforms all torn or dirty because they'd been in fights. They were the bad boys, and they knew it.

Hitomi wore a yellow dress, with Izumi's corsage pinned to it. She was beautiful. Izumi was proud to be with her. He danced with her up until the 'ladies' dance' when the band directed only the girls to dance out on the floor of the gym. The lead singer, in jeans, a black t-shirt and a bandana wrapped around his head like Jimi Hendrix, had the girls clustered around the stage.

The singer's headband was yellow like Hitomi's dress. He must have noticed her because of that, for he began to sing while looking straight at her. It was the only slightly melodic song in the band's repertoire, and when it was over, he threw Hitomi a rose. He threw other roses into the crowd of girls as well, but Hitomi caught the first one.

She held onto that rose for the rest of the night. Feeling headachy from the noise, Izumi wanted to cut the night short and go home, but Hitomi insisted on staying until the very end.

After the last song, an original one called 'Love Ain't Fair', the band's lead singer pulled his bandana off, making his shaggy layered hair even more unkempt, and spoke into the microphone.

"We're the 'Rascals' and we're having a concert next Saturday night at the Sporting Samurai restaurant. Come and see us!"

The students cheered wildly, especially the girls, as the Rascals left the stage.

Hitomi was quiet in the car on the way home. Izumi was glad to see she'd left the rose in her lap, and wasn't clutching it anymore. She was probably tired. The golden crowd usually left the dances early and went out to eat instead. Of course, there'd never been a real rock band at a school dance before. He wondered how the administration had allowed it.

When he pulled up to her house and stopped, Hitomi didn't react. She just leaned back against the seat with a dreamy expression on her face, staring out of the window.

Izumi planned to wait until he walked her to the door, but she looked so lovely that he couldn't resist. He leaned over and pressed his lips gently against hers.

Hitomi reacted immediately, pushing him away. "What are you doing? I didn't say you could kiss me!"

Izumi pulled back, hurt. "I'm sorry, Hitomi…" he began.

She glared and shoved open the car door, getting out on the sidewalk before he could open the door for her. Izumi got out too and stared at her helplessly across the top of the corvette.

"I can't believe you did that, when I was…" she trailed off.

Izumi sighed. She obviously wasn't ready to be kissed yet. They'd only been going out since a little before tennis season ended. "I'm sorry," he said again, trying to put as much of his contrite feelings into his voice as he could. "It's just that, you're my girlfriend, and I love you."

The words slipped out before he could stop them, and he cursed himself for jinxing everything. All the women he'd loved before left him. Momma, Karen, Suzuya, even Mrs. Iwata – who'd acted like more of a mother than Momma ever had, were all gone. He tried to push away the notion that loving Hitomi would cause her to go away as well.

He must have been showing his feelings on his face because Hitomi's expression softened.

"No, I'm sorry, Izumi. You just took me by surprise is all. Look, we're both tired. I'll see you in school on Monday, OK?"

Izumi nodded and watched her walk to her front door. She got her key out of her purse, opened the door, and waved to him with the hand holding her rose before slipping inside.

As Izumi got back in the car he saw the corsage he'd given her on the floor. It must have come undone when Hitomi pushed him away. He'd throw it away when he got home. He wished he could go back and throw away the memory of how he'd wrecked the evening too, but that wasn't possible. He wondered if Hitomi could ever forgive him.

Turning the key in the ignition, he gunned the motor and drove away.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own Full Moon plot or characters. Nor do I own the lyrics from The Doors music.

CHAPTER FOUR

At lunch on Monday the in-crowd decided to eat sitting around one of the raised planters in the quad. The basin-like structures had a concrete lip that ran around the edges which was perfect to sit on. It was a warm day, and Izumi was glad they decided to sit under the shade from the maple tree growing in the middle of the planter.

"So what did you think of the Rascals last night, Izumi?" asked Owata.

The sun made everyone sleepy, so Izumi didn't expect much response when he answered.

"I think they were trying too hard."

"Too hard to do what?" asked Owata curiously. He was a big kid, the captain of the basketball team, and he sprawled along the planter's edge, taking up more room than anyone else.

"To be like 'The Doors'," Izumi answered, naming an American group his mother favored. "They were trying to sound 'guttural'," he used an English word. Izumi never completely forgot his mother's native language, and studied extra hard in his English classes. He was always trying to learn and remember new and unusual words. It impressed the teachers.

"Guttural?" Owata asked. "What's that?"

Conscious that the eyes of the golden clique were on him, Izumi drew a breath and plunged ahead. "Gutteral, you know, like the way The Doors sing 'Love her Madly'." Still getting blank looks, Izumi did his best impression of Jim Morrison and began to sing softly,

"Don't ya love her madly

Don't ya need her badly

Don't ya love her ways

Tell me what you say

Don't ya love her when she's walkin' out the door"

Izumi coughed self-consciously and said, "You know, like that."

Owata and the others began to clap. Ii smacked Izumi lightly on the shoulder. "Good impression!" he told him.

"I disagree," said Hitomi.

She was sitting on the ground with her back to the planter that Izumi was sitting on. The girls had spread a towel from the P.E. department on the grass and she was sitting with her two best friends on either side of her. Izumi couldn't see her face, but he could hear the displeasure in her voice as she went on.

"I don't think they were trying to be like some American band. They wrote their own songs, like the last one, 'Love Ain't Fair,' so how can you say that they're trying too hard to be like someone else's band?"

"I…didn't mean…." Izumi started, then trailed off. What didn't he mean? The Rascals were copycats. He'd even recognized bits and pieces of melodies from the Allman Brothers and Three Dog Night in their songs. What he hadn't meant to do was make Hitomi angry. Everything he said today seemed to make her angry.

"I liked them. I'm going to their concert on Saturday." Hitomi said firmly, still not looking at him.

Owata glanced at Hitomi and Izumi nervously then said, "Let's all go. Maybe they'll sound better the next time around."

The conversation moved on, the lunch bell rang, and Izumi didn't see Hitomi until she met him at his car. For a moment, he thought she wasn't going to be there.

"Have I done anything to make you mad?" he asked her. They seemed to be staring at each other across the top of the car a lot lately.

Hitomi shook her head and avoided his gaze, rubbing her finger along the top of the corvette. "Why do you ask that?"

"You just seem…distant."

She shrugged. "It's just that you're so opinionated sometimes. It makes me angry, you know?"

"I'm…sorry." Izumi would apologize a thousand times more if Hitomi would only smile at him again. "I'll try not to be."

She was silent, refusing to look at him, so he went on.

"Are we still on for dinner Friday night?"

They'd made plans weeks ago to go on a real date, just the two of them. Hitomi's parents were going out of town for the weekend, and Hitomi was supposed to go to her Aunt Ritsuka's house after Ritsuka got home from work on Friday. Hitomi's parents often sent her to her aunt while they were gone. Izumi volunteered to take her to dinner first since her aunt got off work late on Fridays.

"About that…" Hitomi looked over at him. "I have to cancel. My aunt is getting off work early. She wants me to eat dinner with her."

Izumi felt his shoulders slump.

"Don't be like that, Izumi. You can still drive me home so I can pack for the weekend."

"I can drive you to your aunt's house when you're done packing."

"No, my aunt's going to pick me up. It's all arranged."

She sounded so final about it. Defeated, Izumi agreed and went around to open the car door for her. There would be other opportunities to prove to Hitomi how much he cared for her. It was just that he'd been counting on using their date Friday night to make up for ruining their evening after the dance. It would have to wait.

o-o-o

The days passed and Hitomi seemed to perk up a little. She started humming again, which she only did when she was happy. Izumi grew hopeful. At the newspaper office, he threw himself into writing more articles to make it up to Matsudairo.

He edited and proofed Tokiwa's article for her, and handed it in.

Tokiwa asked him about it later.

"It was fine, Tokiwa."

Tokiwa smiled sadly and pushed her glasses back up her nose. "You sound kind. People always sound kind when they are trying to soften the blow. You can be honest with me, you know. How bad was it?"

"Please, sit." Izumi patted the chair next to his desk, and Tokiwa obeyed. If she wanted the truth, then he should give it to her. "It was honest and accurate, and that is the first rule of newspaper reporting. You mentioned exactly what happened at the dance."

"But…?" Tokiwa asked shyly.

Izumi looked at her. Tokiwa was gazing at him with soft, expectant eyes. Her hands were clenching the skirt of her school uniform, even though her face was serene. He sighed. She'd asked for the truth after all.

"But there was no sense of assessment," Izumi told her.

"Assessment?" Tokiwa cocked her head wonderingly.

"There was no sense about how you felt about the dance, or the band members. The interview with the band was supposed to be the focal point of the story, but you relegated it to the background, and you didn't write anything that couldn't be found in a press release from a public relations firm. There were no personal feelings."

Tokiwa's hands left her lap and began to flutter like birds in the air between them as she spoke. "But I thought a good reporter was supposed to be objective. I thought we weren't supposed to be biased or show our feelings. Besides, I didn't want to write about how I felt about the band, or it would have ruined the whole story." Her hands dropped into her lap and she looked away. "I'm sorry, I said more than I meant to. I was afraid I'd do that in the article too."

"The point of a personal interview is to give a true sense of the person being interviewed. You are allowed to draw conclusions, Tokiwa-kun."

Tokiwa kept looking at the floor.

"Tokiwa-kun?" Concerned now, Izumi kept his voice soft so the other students in the room couldn't hear. "Did something happen during the interview? Did they hurt you?"

Her chin shot up and her hands did too, fingers splayed as if trying to stop him from speaking anymore. "No! No, nothing like that. None of them touched me. It's just the way they were looking at me. Like I was something they'd like to eat. I felt like a rabbit among wolves, and even though they answered all my questions I felt like they were laughing at me the whole time. I didn't like it. I didn't like them."

"Ah." Izumi didn't know what to say. Tokiwa sounded like she was scared of the Rascals. "If Matsudairo ever wants another interview with them. I'll do it, I promise," he told her. Tokiwa was Matsudairo's cousin, and he looked out for her. Izumi found he'd become protective as well.

His words seemed to reassure her, because she thanked him, gave him a brilliant smile and went back to her own desk area.

Friday after school Izumi dropped Hitomi off at her house. Her parents were already gone, and she seemed anxious to go and get packed.

"I'll pick you up tomorrow at your aunt's house for the concert, OK?"

"Yes, yes. Do you have the paper I gave you with her work and home numbers? And her address?"

"Yes." Izumi patted his uniform pocket. "It's right here." Hitomi sounded as if she thought he'd lost it.

She smiled and turned to go. "I'll see you tomorrow then, for the concert."

"Tomorrow," Izumi agreed, got in his car and drove off. He was almost all the way home when he remembered he forgot to loan Hitomi his math book. He'd already finished the weekend assignment, and she'd dropped her math book in a puddle yesterday. It seemed to be raining more and more lately.

Turning his car around, he made it back to her street in fifteen minutes, but the sidewalk in front of her house already had cars and a motorcycle parked in front of it, so he pulled around a side street to park.

Math book in hand, he walked up to the door. The air was hot and humid. Hitomi had opened the front window, and her voice came through it clearly as he came towards the door. At first he thought she was talking to someone on the phone, but then another voice, a male voice, answered her.

"My boyfriend? You mean Izumi? What about him?"

"How did a girl like you ever wind up with him?" The voice was low, familiar. Izumi placed it immediately. It was the lead singer from the Rascals, the one with the shaggy hair. He glanced back towards the street at the motorcycle he'd never seen in the neighborhood before.

Izumi took another step towards the door, intending to knock and get the guy to leave. Hitomi was so sweet and innocent, she didn't realize the danger she was in, alone in the house without her parents around with a wannabe rock star.

Hitomi laughed. "Can't you guess? It's his car. It's so cool! The minute I saw it I knew I wanted to be his girlfriend. Besides, all the other girls on the tennis team have boyfriends, so I wanted one too."

She made it sound as if a boyfriend were a fashion accessory like a new style of purse, or a bracelet.

Izumi froze as Hitomi went on.

"Don't be jealous. He's nothing like you."

"I didn't think so," the boy said complacently. "No one is like me. I just don't like to share. Break it off with him."

"But then I won't be able to ride in his car anymore," Hitomi said poutingly.

"Break it off with him." The boy said it again, demandingly.

"Oh, alright, but you'd better make it up to me."

The boy made a growling noise. Hitomi giggled, then the unmistakable sounds of two people making out came through the window.

Izumi took a step back, then another, and then he found himself at his car, his hand moving automatically to unlock it. He tossed the math book on the passenger seat and got in.

He felt numb. It was as if all his emotions had turned off. He forced himself to think logically. Hitomi didn't want to be his girlfriend anymore, didn't want to see him anymore. Dimly, he knew that fact would cause wrenching pain soon, but for now it was simply a fact. Facts needed to be acted on.

He turned the key in the ignition and drove to the nearest payphone.

Taking the paper with Hitomi's aunt's information on it out of his pocket, he found her work number and dialed it.

"May I speak with Ritsuka-san please?"

"Who may I say is calling?"

"Izumi Watanabe. It's about her niece."

"One moment, please."

After considerably more than a minute, Ritsuka came on the line.

Izumi stared out at the busy street through the glass of the phone booth.

"This is Ritsuka."

"Hello. My name is Izumi. I was supposed to take Hitomi to a concert tomorrow. I won't be able to. Would you please pass on the message?"

"Of course, but why not call her home number and tell her yourself? I'm not supposed to meet her until late tonight."

So Hitomi lied to him. On top of everything else, she'd lied so she could spend time with her new boyfriend instead of him.

"Please just give her the message." Izumi said, and hung up.

The paper with Ritsuka's phone numbers and address on it was lying on the metal shelf where the booth's phone book lay. Izumi took the paper and carefully ripped in halves, quarters, and eights, then scattered the pieces all over the phone booth floor.

He got back into his car and drove around Tokyo for hours, just aimlessly following the traffic through rush hour and beyond.

When he got home, the servants were gone and on the table in the foyer was a note left for him by his father. It said that Father was going to be in Nagasaki on business and left the address and phone number of the hotel where he was staying.

Everyone left him. Everyone. Even Father, the one person left in the world who Izumi wanted to please, was never around when he needed him.

He trudged to his room and lay down on the bed.

He had all of Saturday to try to figure out what he'd done wrong. He went over and over it, and couldn't think of anything he'd done to make Hitomi hate him. He'd tried so hard to be a good boyfriend to her. He took care of her, brought her to and from school, gave her little gifts, and did everything that you were supposed to do as a boyfriend. So what went wrong? Why had he failed? There must be something he'd left undone, something he could fix if he only worked harder at it.

The sick feeling in the pit of his stomach started the moment he woke up and wouldn't leave him all day long. He couldn't seem to stop thinking of Hitomi's betrayal. It consumed him. He couldn't concentrate on homework, or anything else. The servants had the day off, so there was no one to talk to. Daylight came and went.

It was dark out. Izumi looked at the clock. If the world were back to normal, he'd have picked up Hitomi and taken her to the concert by now. If things were the same as they were just last week, she'd be happy to see him. How could things change so much in the space of a week? He didn't understand it, and he needed to.

Grabbing his car keys, he left the house and drove to the concert. He knew she'd be there.

The concert was over by the time he got to the restaurant. A light rain was beginning to fall. People were streaming out to their cars in the parking lot, anxious to get home before it started to pour. So many people were trying to get out of the lot that he figured it was impossible to pull in so he drove around back.

There was a van parked by the back exit. The band members were walking toward it dressed in their ridiculous outfits, and carrying equipment. Well, most of the band members were carrying things, but not the lead singer. Izumi saw him walking toward the van with his arm around Hitomi's shoulders.

At first Izumi thought it was some other girl. Hitomi wasn't dressed like she usually was. He'd never seen her showing that much skin before, not even in her tennis uniform. She'd dressed that way for the singer, cheapened herself for him. A huge cleansing burst of rage swept through Izumi.

He jumped out of the car and stalked over to them.

"Hitomi! What are you doing with him? You said you were my girlfriend. You said you liked me. Was that a lie?"

Hitomi's mouth opened and shut like a fish's mouth. For once she was wordless. The lead singer just stopped and narrowed his eyes. The other band members put down their equipment and circled the spot where Izumi was confronting Hitomi and her new boyfriend.

"Was it a lie?" shouted Izumi when Hitomi didn't answer. She gulped and tried to pull her low-cut top up a bit. The movement just enraged Izumi even more.

"Why are you here with him? Why are you dressed like a whore?"

"Hey, no one talks to my woman that way." The singer dropped his arm from Hitomi and stepped forward. Izumi almost laughed at the melodramatic phrase.

"Why not call her what she is?" he quipped, appalled at himself even as the words were leaving his mouth. He wanted to hurt her the way she'd hurt him, but hadn't wanted to go that far. Shocked at himself, he didn't react in time when the singer threw his first punch.

Pain exploded along Izumi's chin. He staggered back, and hadn't recovered when the singer stepped in and buried his fist in Izumi's gut.

Coughing, Izumi fell to the pavement, and curled into a ball as other blows, this time from the feet of the other band members, rained down on him. It went on for what seemed like forever. At one point he thought he heard Hitomi objecting, but the lead singer told her, "Hey, he insulted you. He deserves a lesson."

Finally they tired of kicking him. Izumi heard them walking back to their equipment. He raised his head and through eyes blurry with blood he saw their figures walking away.

"Hitomi, why?" he whispered. "It isn't fair."

A large shadow knelt down and focused into the band's drummer. Izumi's neck strained as the larger boy grabbed him by the hair and forced his head up. Izumi could smell the liquor on his breath. "Hey, weren't you at our concert? You didn't listen so good. Our signature song is 'Love Ain't Fair'."

He dropped his grip and Izumi's head bounced back on the ground. The drummer walked away laughing uproariously, as if he'd made the funniest joke in the world.

Izumi's vision blurred and blackened to nothing.

He woke up later, still curled in a ball on the wet pavement. Puddles had formed in the cracked and uneven areas of the alleyway behind the restaurant. He'd been unconscious for hours. It was nearly dawn.

Every movement hurt, but Izumi managed to stagger to his feet and make it to his car. He realized that at least one of his ribs were broken. He'd heard the crack when the drummer first kicked him in the side, and it hurt there. It hurt a lot. In the rearview mirror he saw that he had a cut above one eyebrow and a bruise along his jaw. He knew that when he got home he'd find more bruises under his clothing.

He drove home and fell into bed, Hitomi's name on his lips.

o-o-o

Dawn came in the inexorable way it always did. Izumi dragged himself to the bathroom and cleaned up as best he could. A band-aid covered the cut on his forehead, but he couldn't do much about the bruise on his jaw. His side felt like it was on fire, but he knew there wasn't much that could be done about a broken rib.

It was nearly 7:00 in the morning, and he was alone again.

Had it hurt Father this much when he realized Momma didn't love him? Was that why he'd married someone he didn't love just so he wouldn't hurt this much again?

If there had been a distance between Izumi and Father before Suzuya, it had doubled afterward, and Izumi knew that part of it was because he hadn't quite forgiven Father for saying the words that sent Suzuya rushing out of the apartment and into oncoming traffic.

Now Izumi and Father had something in common. Finally they could talk, really talk.

Izumi grabbed the note father left behind and dialed the hotel in Nagasaki. Father was always up early. The hotel desk clerk patched him through without objection once he found out Izumi was Izumi Watanabe senior's son.

"Hello?"

Izumi froze, phone in hand. It was a woman's voice, not Father at all.

"Hello?" she said again, sounding irritated this time.

"Hello, is Mr. Watanabe there?" asked Izumi tonelessly. Maybe there was some mistake. Maybe the hotel had patched him through to the wrong room. Father wouldn't go away for the weekend with some woman and lie about it to Izumi.

"Yes, hold on please, I'll get him."

Izumi hung up the phone and stared at it for a long time.

Why would Father want to talk to him? He never had before. Father had some woman to talk to, a woman who was in his room at 7:00 in the morning.

Izumi was still reeling from that when another thought struck him. Maybe Father had gone to hotels with strange women while Momma was still married to him. Maybe Momma hadn't been completely in the wrong when she'd left.

Momma.

She didn't call or write him any more, but she was still his mother.

Izumi walked into father's den and opened his desk drawer. There was the credit card he left for emergencies. Izumi had the same first name as his father. He also had a valid passport and dual citizenship for both America and Japan since he'd actually been born in America. He hadn't been back to the country of his birth since he was three years old. It was time to go visit his mother. There was nothing for him here in Japan.

It only took a few minutes to pack a small bag. Izumi called the airline, booked a ticket on a flight to New York, and walked out of the house without a backward glance. As he paused to lock the door, he heard the phone start ringing.

Turning away, he let it ring. It probably wasn't for him anyway.

o-o-o

Across town, Tokiwa set the phone down and turned to face her cousin.

"He isn't answering," she told him.

Matsudairo sighed. "Maybe he's gone out for a walk. He probably just needs time. According to my sources, he only found out yesterday that Hitomi's been two timing him."

"I just have a bad feeling about this. I want to talk to him." Tokiwa let her glasses slide down her nose without bothering to push them back up.

Matsudairo grimaced, walked over to her and gave her a hug. "Cheer up. Eventually he'll come to his senses and realize that you love him. That Hitomi thing was just a passing phase."

Tokiwa sniffed. "You're a really bad liar, Matsudairo."

"That's why I went into the newspaper business. Truth is everything, eh?"

"I guess," Tokiwa mumbled into his shirtfront. "But why does it have to hurt so much?"

o-o-o

Izumi Watanabe senior walked into his hotel room, papers in hand.

"Thank you for coming early, Mrs. Minami. Not many secretaries would put up with such early hours."

"That's alright, Mr. Watanabe. I don't sleep well when I'm away from my husband, so I was up early anyways. Are those the papers you wanted typed before your 9:00 meeting?"

"Yes. Here you are." He handed them across the little table where she'd already set up her portable typewriter.

"Thank you. Oh, and by the way, Mr. Watanabe, you had a phone call."

"A phone call?" he frowned. "Who was it?"

"I don't know, they didn't leave a message. When I said I'd go and get you, he hung up."

Izumi Watanabe shrugged. "It couldn't have been any of my people, we were all in the breakfast meeting in Yoneoka's room. It must not have been important."

Mrs. Minami smiled and got back to her typing.

**A/N: I had to make up Izumi's other name since they never seemed to mention it in the anime series. They probably did in the manga, but I haven't had a chance to read it yet so I picked a typical sounding name. **


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

New York City. It was big, loud, and dirtier than Tokyo. The people weren't as polite either. Izumi found that they yelled more often than they spoke. Navigating his way from Customs to the sidewalk outside the airport was a feat in itself. His head was pounding, and he hadn't brought any aspirin with him.

Finally he found a taxi driver who could understand him. Izumi thought he spoke decent English, but everyone in New York seemed to mangle the words in that odd accent that they had. He gave the driver the address that had been on the last three packages Momma had sent him. The driver seemed impressed that the address contained the words 'Park Avenue'.

The building was massive. Large and ornate, it reminded Izumi a little of the building where Suzuya's father bought an apartment for them in Tokyo. They both reeked of money and privilege.

The doorman in his forest green uniform was helping a little old lady into a limousine when the taxi pulled up, so Izumi slipped in without him noticing.

Crossing the marble foyer, he found his way to the elevators and stepped in just as the Doorman returned to his post. It was a small victory, but it gave Izumi hope that things were at last going his way. He needed someone to talk to, and Momma was his last hope.

The elevator doors opened and in seconds Izumi found himself in front of his mother's apartment door. Taking a breath, he raised his fist and knocked.

A young girl, about twelve years old, opened the door. She had golden hair and big blue eyes, and was wearing a pink sundress with little white polka dots all over it. She was also chewing gum, a big pink wad of it which she snapped between her teeth as she stared at him.

It was Karen, his sister. She'd grown.

Izumi cleared his throat and tried to stop staring at her.

"Hello," he said at last. "My name is Izumi, I'm your brother."

Karen's eyes narrowed and she snapped her gum furiously. "Get lost, you weirdo! I don't have a brother."

She turned her head to yell back over her shoulder into the apartment. "Hey Mom, some guy's here claiming to be my brother!"

From over the girl's shoulder Izumi saw movement, saw his mother coming toward him, her head dipped to the side and her hands at her ear fixing an earring on it. Her golden hair was swept up and her makeup was perfect, but she was barefoot and wearing a silk bathrobe. As she came forward she said, "What did I say about yelling indoors Karen? You'd better not do that when my dinner guests arrive, I…"

She trailed off and came to a stop right behind Karen as she saw Izumi standing in the doorway.

Karen turned around to smirk triumphantly as her mother came up behind her.

Izumi saw the smirk turn to confusion as his mother put her hand on Karen's shoulder and pushed her away from the door.

"Go to your room, Karen."

Karen's mouth opened, and Izumi could see her wad of gum tucked between her cheek and jaw. "But why?"

"Just do as I say!"

Izumi winced, remembering that tone of voice clearly. When Momma used that tone, it was best to obey immediately.

Karen had evidently learned that, because she flounced her way down the hall. Before she went she gave Izumi a last glare and muttered, "I hate weirdos."

Izumi's mother came to the door, smoothing her robe over her stomach nervously. "Izumi, why are you here? Now's really not a good time. I've got guests coming."

"I'm…sorry." Izumi said, waiting for Momma to pull him into a hug, to ask him inside, anything to show that she was happy to see him, but all she did was stand in the doorway and keep talking.

"Why didn't your father call to tell me you were coming? We had an arrangement. It's just like him to decide to send you to me out of spite. This is the worst possible timing, my husband's law partners are coming to dinner in half an hour."

Arrangement? What arrangement would keep Izumi away from his mother, and why had she allowed his own sister to forget he even existed? Why didn't Izumi have any say in it? Probably because to Momma, Izumi didn't matter. He was a mistake in her life. She had Karen and her new husband now. What did she need with him?

Momma kept talking about how she was going to arrange things with him here. He let her ramble, listening with only half an ear. When he heard her say the word 'hotel' he put an end to it.

"I'll go," he said suddenly. "I can see this was a mistake. I am not wanted, so I'll leave."

He gave her a last polite smile, and turned to walk back to the elevator. He'd failed once again. Failed to make his father love him, failed to make Hitomi love him, and now he'd failed to make his mother love him too, and she didn't even really know him. There had to be something wrong with him for so many people to reject him.

He could hear Momma calling to him to wait, but he didn't stop. He knew somehow that she'd never humiliate herself by walking out of her apartment in a bathrobe, let alone try to follow him down the elevator in one. Part of him hoped she would, but she didn't.

He went down the elevator and out onto the pavement outside the apartment building. He had nowhere to go. Lifting his face, he felt moisture. It was raining again. Behind him, the doorman got out an umbrella and used it to usher a woman and child into the building when they exited a taxi. Izumi watched them. The little boy was clinging to his mother's hand. She smiled down at him as the doorman tilted the umbrella to keep them safe from the rain. The child giggled and ran ahead, pulling his mother behind him and forcing the doorman to jog to keep up. They were going home, where it was safe and welcome.

Home.

Izumi had no place to call home, not really, not if home was a place where you felt like you belonged, where people loved you and wanted you.

The rain continued to fall, dotting the shirt and vest Izumi had worn on the plane. It dampened his face and hair. Every bad time in his life began and ended in the rain. Momma leaving, Suzuya's death, Hitomi's betrayal, whenever he replayed the memories in his mind's eye they always came accompanied by the sound of water falling relentlessly, inevitably, to the ground.

Water.

Water was cold and hard, like the rain. It didn't feel; it just existed.

He'd heard New York had a river running through it. Perhaps he'd go find it.

o-o-o

He woke in a fog, not knowing who or where he was. All was white. He was lying on a surface that felt solid, but when he looked at it, it seemed like he could see through layers and layers, as if it were a cloud that had somehow solidified.

He got to his feet, and there, standing before him was a figure in a long hooded robe, tall and imposing.

"Your name is Izumi. For your crime you are sentenced to collect souls. Do you understand?"

Izumi shook his head wordlessly. Crime? He couldn't remember committing a crime. He couldn't remember anything. He hadn't even known his own name until the hooded creature said it to him.

"Collecting souls is a sacred duty," the figure droned on.

Izumi perked up. Duty? What could the past possibly matter when there was a job to do?

He smiled. "I will be happy to do my duty. Please, I want to start right away."

And so he did.

Time passed. Izumi collected souls ruthlessly and efficiently under the figure's tutelage. Some time later the figure appeared again, this time with a girl in tow.

"You've been given a partner. Her name is Meroko."

Izumi stared at the girl. She had pink hair and looked a bit confused. She wore a red skirt and top and had a hat with bunny ears on it. All the Shinigami had an animal persona. Izumi's was a dog.

The girl, Meroko, smiled at him.

Izumi stared back. Something about her…bothered him. Something in his heart told him not to trust her, that trusting was bad. He decided he'd be cold and professional around her. Meroko, however, never seemed to be bothered by his coldness. She was always happy, always telling him she loved him.

Izumi didn't believe it, didn't believe her. Something deep within warned him against it. Love was for fools. He didn't know how he knew it, but he knew it. The shinigami were forbidden to remember their past, so he never tried to. If sometimes when he visited the human world and hovered overly long above a river, and seemed to hear the strains of an ugly, discordant song with the words 'Love ain't fair' running through his mind, what of it? It didn't mean anything.

Izumi paused midair and stared down at the water rushing below him, green fields on either side. The river looked so peaceful, but Izumi knew it was a lie. Beneath the surface were strong currents that could drag a body under, make it feel like it was being ripped apart, crushed by the water's force.

"Izumi-kun!"

It was Meroko again, calling to him. She'd probably make another one of her absurd protestations of love. It was beginning to grate on his nerves. He'd been able to ignore her ridiculous crush on him easily at first, but now there was this odd little jolt in his heart each time she told him she loved him. Something would have to be done about her, and soon. Izumi had no time for love. He was busy being a shinigami, the perfect shinigami. He'd work harder and harder at it until…what?

Shaking away the niggling uncertainty, Izumi drew up and waited for his annoying partner to catch up with him.

He'd ask for a new partner soon. Nothing must interfere with his duty. Working to be the best shinigami came first. That was all that mattered, wasn't it?

END

**A/N: **From this point on, the events of the Full Moon Wo Sagashite anime series unfold. For the continuing story of Izumi, and to find out what happened to him after the anime ended, read the epilogue. Coming soon!


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I obviously don't own Full Moon characters or plot, but I'm borrowing them for a bit.

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Ellen Brand, who writes with more delicacy and psychological insight than I ever could. If you haven't read her stories, you're missing out on something wonderful.

EPILOGUE:

Izumi woke in the white expanse of nothingness again, right back where he started his first day as a shinigami. Lying on the expanse that wasn't a floor yet served as one, he let the tears run down his face. He's been punished, severely, for his failure. The figure in the cloak, the same one who explained things to him that first day so long ago, hadn't touched him. No, he'd just stood back and allowed the black winds to envelope Izumi, winds the color of darkest midnight, which had wrenched at his vestigial wings until he thought they'd be torn off. The winds seemed to pull at his muscles and tendons as they swirled about. He had no idea a shinigami's body could hurt that much. Was that how Takuto felt when they enveloped him? This sense of being near ripped apart?

Takuto.

Izumi snarled and shoved any similarity between the two of them out of his mind. This was all Takuto's fault. The stupid amateur couldn't leave well enough alone. No, he had to go and try to remember. Izumi tried to stop him and failed, and so he was punished.

Failure.

Why did it feel so familiar? Izumi had never failed in his duties as a shinigami before. He might make a game of it sometimes. He'd enjoyed toying with Mitsuki, but he'd never allowed a soul to go free when ordered to collect it. No, Izumi always did his duty.

Until now.

He deserved to be punished. Failure was always punished.

He lay in the white emptiness and let his tears fall into it. The physical pain of being punished was nothing to the pain, the oddly familiar pain, of not measuring up.

There was a sound of rushing water.

Izumi blinked. The white blankness could not create sound. Where…? He strained his ears and heard it again, coming closer. Not water, no. Not a rippling, but a flapping. It was wind, wind being pushed aside by feathers. He felt it coming nearer, right above him, with a final push of air or what passed for air in this dimension, then there was a presence beside him. A hand, warm in the way that only a physical presence can be, touched his back gently.

Izumi lifted his face, and turned it, pushing his hands against the snowy whiteness below him, gathering his legs beneath himself with a swallowed groan to sit back on his folded legs.

It was Meroko, changed, but still his Meroko with her ridiculous pink hair and heart shaped face. Now she had a large pair of wings, whiter than the suddenly duller mist around them. And she was beautiful, breathtakingly beautiful. She gazed at him with a tenderness he'd never seen before, not even during one of her many extravagant declarations of love.

She'd become an angel.

A worry he'd been harboring ever since he'd skulked away from the scene of his greatest defeat lifted from his heart.

"What's wrong, Izumi?" the angel asked softly.

"What do you care?" he returned rudely, lifting his arm to wipe his tears angrily from his face. She was an angel now. He'd worried about her for nothing.

"I care."

She said simply, and the truth of it in her eyes was more than he could bear. He turned his face away.

"Please. Tell me."

Why did her voice have such an effect on him? Against his will he stared out into the empty white void and the words spilled out.

"I was punished. Nothing I ever do is enough for…"

Images invaded his mind, irresistable. A Japanese man turning away, swinging a briefcase as he left. A woman, with a beautiful face contorted in rage dragging a little girl by the hand as she walked out a door. A girl, young and pretty, walking away at the side of a tough looking boy, giving him a last coldly pitying look.

Izumi blinked. "I always fail. I'm always failing."

"Then maybe it's time that you asked for help." Meroko's voice was kind, non judgmental. He couldn't bear it.

"From who? You?" He realized his tone was rough, dismissive, but he'd only meant that he'd hurt her before so she had no reason to help him. However, he'd rather die again and turn into a ghost before apologizing for it, or explaining.

The old Meroko would have cried, her face crumpling into a hurt expression like a little girl's. Izumi glanced at her, dreading what he'd see, but Meroko's face was calm, serene, as she answered him.

"No. I'm not the one who can help you. Only Kami-sama can do that."

Izumi snorted and stared back into the void. "Why would he? He's the one who condemned us to be shinigami. He doesn't care."

"You're wrong, Izumi. He didn't condemn us. We did that ourselves. Kami-sama loves you. I loved you too when we were partners, but you could never accept my love, or anyone else's, for as long as I've known you."

Here was familiar ground. "I don't believe in love." Izumi said flatly. "Doing my duty as a shinigami is all that matters."

Out of the corner of his eye he saw her shaking her head sadly. "You've done your duty, Izumi. You've gathered countless souls in your time as a shinigami, but you've never wondered why you were given that duty."

Izumi shifted to face her, frowning. What did she mean? Everyone knew that only souls who'd committed suicide were made shinigami. The job was a punishment.

"Did you never think to ask why the shinigami are given such a task? Why would suicides be forced to do such work? Of all the jobs Kami-sama could have given, why that one?"

Gazing into her eyes, Izumi was trapped, forced to consider for the first time how he'd ended up with such a job. "I…don't know," he said, but his mind continued to wrap its way around the problem.

"I think you do," Meroko disagreed, and smiled to take the sting out of it. "I think deep down you know why we were forced to watch over and over as families said goodbye to their loved ones, as humans fought to take their last breath, to survive even when they knew it was hopeless."

Now he knew what she wanted him to say. She'd given it away. "To teach us the value of life?" Izumi smirked. "Don't be silly."

"What better way to make us realize our past error? What better way to make us realize the wastefulness of throwing our lives away than to watch people who did value their lives having to let go?"

"If my life was so valuable, then why was I so ready to leave it?" Izumi asked sullenly.

Sadness tinged Meroko's eyes. "I don't know, Izumi. Only you can answer that."

"No! Remembering is forbidden."

"But you're remembering anyways, aren't you?"

Izumi sucked in a breath he didn't need anymore. She knew. She'd sensed somehow the images that had flashed through his mind, images that he knew instinctively were connected to a pain that he'd never let go of. Those images, that pain, could destroy him as assuredly as the black winds that had tormented his body not long ago.

Meroko was waiting for his answer, calmly, quietly, resting in her beauty, at peace in a way he could never be.

"I don't want to remember," he told her.

She blinked slowly in acknowledgement, then opened her eyes and waited once more.

Once again she'd cast a spell on him and he found himself opening his mouth and going on, though he didn't want to.

"I don't want to feel that hurt again. I wasn't good enough for any of them. No matter how hard I tried, they all left me. I'm useless. You shouldn't waste your time."

If he only felt stronger, he'd fly from her now, as he'd flown away so many times before whenever her protestations of love came a little too close to his heart. He hadn't minded her adoration, but whenever she spoke of love, he'd closed down. Better not to open himself up to that kind of hurt. Now he knew that his reactions to her were steeped in a past he'd never completely left behind.

"You're not useless to me, or to Kami-sama."

Izumi allowed disbelief to cross his face, and folded his arms, hunching the shoulder nearest her as a barrier against her words.

Meroko sighed. "Oh Izumi, why can't you ever admit that you need help? That you need love?" He'd put sadness back into her eyes.

"Whose love?" Izumi raised a hand between them, then let it fall to his side. "Your love? You don't love me anymore. You love Takuto now. You told me." Kami-sama knew he'd tried to get her back, so he could bask in that adoration again. He'd missed it.

He'd missed her.

Meroko leaned forward so that she was on her hands and knees, wings folded over her back, the tips touching the ground at her ankles. She was much closer to him now, closing the distance between them with her voice as well as her physical being.

"I do love you, Izumi. I love you more now than I ever did before. Becoming an angel showed me what love really is. It's not what I thought it was when I was always trying to get you and Takuto to say you loved me back."

Izumi stared at her blankly. She hadn't loved him?

Seeing his reaction, she blinked and her shoulders sagged. Sighing, Meroko tried to explain. "Real love doesn't make demands. Love isn't a game of words. I thought hearing the words I wanted would make you into what I wanted you to be. I didn't bother to try to find out who you really were. But I know now. I know you, Izumi, and I love you. I love you," she said again, with such sincerity in her face and voice that Izumi was forced to believe her, and it shook him to his depths.

When had Meroko gained such wisdom, such acuity? Even leaning toward him on her hands and knees like a child she had a grace and maturity that she'd never had before. Did she truly know him? Even the parts he'd forgotten? And if so, how could she truly love him? He began to tremble.

"Please," Meroko lifted her hand and spread her fingers, palm up, in front of his chest. "Accept it. You don't have to do anything to earn love, you just have to reach out and accept it."

Izumi looked at the hand outstretched in front of him.

Memories, images, flooding in without warning, without details, but all the attendant pain and hurt were there sure enough.

He saw himself fishing a ring out of a tank of water, studying hard at a desk by windows dark with night, pouring over flowers at a florist shop to find the perfect corsage. All that effort, all that trying, and for what? He was tired, tired of trying in his past life and in this life as a shinigami, tired of trying and failing over and over. He was sickened by what all that useless effort had made him, cold, cruel, and uncaring. This wasn't what he'd wanted, not when he was a human child watching as one by one the people he cared most about went away. Nothing could hurt worse than this, knowing once again that nothing he did helped. What did he have to lose? He'd already lost everything that mattered to him.

Izumi unfolded his arms, slowly reached out, and took her hand.

Meroko bent her head in relief, then lifted her chin and pulled him into a kneeling hug, wrapping her arms around his back. His arms moved to surround her as well, nestled under the feathers of her wings, and he rested his chin on her shoulder, his cheek against the softness of her hair.

He felt those big, glorious wings of hers lift, extend, and begin to flap, pulling the both of them off the snowy fields and into the space above.

He began to flap his own wings, tiny compared to hers, in order to help her. As they moved, his wings began to change. He could feel them extending, getting bigger and stronger until their wingspan was just as large as hers.

His hat, the one with the dog ears, fell off as they gained speed and altitude. Eyes opened wide in shock, he lifted his chin from her shoulder and leaned back to stare into her eyes.

Meroko's eyes were filled with tears, and she was smiling through them.

"What just happened?" he asked her wonderingly.

"You're an angel now, Izumi." Meroko laughed, "You're an angel like me."

"But how? I didn't do anything!"

Meroko's hands rested lightly on either side of his ribcage, now that she didn't have to hold him up anymore as they ascended. He was holding his own, wings flapping in unison with hers. "That's what Kami-sama was waiting for. You were trying so hard to earn what you only had to accept. It's Kami-sama's gift to you. To us."

Meroko released her grip on him and drew a hand along his shoulder and arm until it reached his hand and clasped it firmly. "Come on. Let's go."

Izumi tightened his hand on hers. He didn't know where they were headed and he didn't care. He felt lighter and freer than he ever had before, and he continued to fly with Meroko up and up until the white nothingness was left far behind.

THE END

**A/N:** Hope you enjoyed this. I wanted an upbeat ending to counterbalance all the angst in the previous chapters, and it is, after all, Christmas time so the happy ending is my gift to you.


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